


Brick and Mortar

by keraunoscopia



Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, TW: drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 13:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19085665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keraunoscopia/pseuds/keraunoscopia
Summary: He’s not sure anyone else can see it, but then, he’s certain no one else is watching closely enough. They’re a family, they’re detectives and officers respectively, so they know what to look for, but they also know how to hide, how to lay the mortar and stack the bricks into a sort of invisible and impenetrable wall. But Adam can see him crumbling.





	Brick and Mortar

He’s not sure anyone else can see it, but then, he’s certain no one else is watching closely enough. They’re a family, they’re detectives and officers respectively, so they know what to look for, but they also know how to hide, how to lay the mortar and stack the bricks into a sort of invisible and impenetrable wall. But Adam can see him crumbling. 

He doesn’t know what to say, if he should say anything at all, because that’s never what they’ve been, never what they’ve done. There’s no friction between them, no animosity, no arguments, no tension, because this isn’t what they do, they don’t talk about the raw and jagged edges. They drink beers, watch the game, solve crimes. They do their job, they play their parts. Friends maybe, colleagues certainly, but Adam doesn’t know how to handle this information he can’t help but glean. 

Jay Halstead hides it well, but Adam finds that his eyes always seem to settle on him when they share space, like there’s some sort of gravitational pull, drawing him in, but not too close. Adam can’t help but watch him, can’t help but notice the way the circles under Jay’s eyes remain even when they’ve had days off, and he can’t help but notice the way his jeans seem to sag a little lower on his hips, like his belt doesn’t have quite as much to hold onto. 

Adam is sure of what he’s seeing, the way Jay seems to be fading before their eyes, but when he finally works up the courage to ask, Jay insists that he’s fine, and frankly, Adam’s not sure what else he’d been expecting. They don’t open up to each other, and there doesn’t seem to be any reason to start now, even if Adam still searches for him in every crowd, glances over to gauge his reaction during every meeting, makes a mental note of his position every time they roll up on a scene or bust through a house. 

It feels so obvious to Adam, so glaring, that when Jay calls in sick one day, he’s baffled by the lack of reaction, that no one in the squad room seems to think anything of it, that the jarring absence at Jay’s desk, the empty chair has prompted no concern. But he’s not sure what to say, not sure how to tell them that this is something worth worrying about, that Jay’s never called in sick once the entire time Adam’s been with intelligence, that he’d watched Jay empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet at the station, wash his mouth out, and go back to work. Adam doesn’t know how to admit that somehow, someway, despite everything, Jay has become a grounding force in his life, the centerpoint of his orbit. 

The day passes so incredibly slow, ticking towards evening that Adam can’t bear it anymore and grabs the jacket off the back of his chair, and he mumbles a few words about meeting with a CI, doesn’t wait for the okay, or anyone to acknowledge his departure. He can’t justify it, really, can’t figure out why it feels like liquid concrete is curing in his stomach, why the concern he’d felt initially fades away to dread with each step closer to Jay’s apartment. 

He knows where it is because he watches too closely, because he’s noted where the uber driver stops in route to Adam’s place, because he notices everything when it comes to Jay, even if he’s never been invited here. There’s a buzzer at the front door, but Jay’s name is next to his apartment number, and a woman steps through just as Adam’s foot catches the first step, and he flashes her that disarming sort of smile, a cheerful wave, and she leaves, not bothering to make sure he’s got any right to be there. 

Adam hesitates at the elevator, because if Jay’s sick, he’s got no excuse for being here, and if he’s not sick, Adam has no words to say anyway, but then that gravity takes over, the pull that Adam’s helpless to resist, inexplicable and constant. The ride up to the third floor feels like an eternity, and he can’t help but wonder if he should have taken the stairs instead, but then his knuckles are rapping on the solid wood of Jay’s door, and he shrinks, stomach churning uncomfortably, suddenly regretting every step that got him here. 

There’s a shuffle on the other side of the door, but it doesn’t open and he knocks again. Rustling, and a heavy thud, but still no rattle of the lock, no swing of hinges, and the simmering panic starts to rise. “Halstead?” Adam calls, leaning his forehead against the door, and softer, more gently, he calls again, “Jay? It’s me, can you let me in?”

The door swings open suddenly, catching Adam by surprise, stumbling forward into the apartment, and Jay’s standing there, wide eyed, leaning heavily against the door, and Adam can see him, but he has to blink, once, and then twice to be sure he’s really there. Because Jay’s so pale he’s practically a ghost, a thin sheen of sweat across his skin, and it’s his eyes, really, that sear into Adam’s chest like a serrated knife, red and hollow, so incredibly empty. 

“Jay,” Adam says again, steps forward towards Jay, reaching a hand out as if to comfort, but Jay steps back. 

“What’r you doing here?” He demands, but there’s something about his tone, the cadence of his words that confirms what Adam’s feared, this illusory threat, suspicious but never able to be sure. 

“Are you high?” Adam asks softly, and his voice breaks with a painfully somber note. 

Jay doesn’t deny it, or can’t, either way, Adam doesn’t need the words to know, and he steps further into the apartment, past Jay to turn around, because he’s sure, so absolutely sure now that Jay will have to force him out for him to leave. 

“Jay talk to me, what’s going on?’ Adam asks, and Jay swings the door shut, turns his back to Adam, collapses into a chair. His silence speaks volumes but offers no insight, and Adam feels helpless, feels like he should have realized this sooner, because this is what he’d been seeing, only the periphery, the ragged edges. Adam had expected alcohol, the mistress of most detectives he’s seen go down this road, but he should have known it would be different. That the demons Jay’s trying to silence are more than just this job. 

“Why are you here?” Jay repeats, looking up from his hands, twisted together in his lap, and Adam looks around the apartment, notes the stacks of dirty dishes, the take out containers, empty liquor bottles, the needles laying on the coffee table. Now’s not the time to say it, even though now he’s certain of what he’d never realized before. That he loves him. 

“I was worried about you,” Adam settles on instead, because it’s safe, because it’s true. 

Jay snorts out a laugh, “why?” Like his apartment isn’t evidence enough.

“Because this didn’t happen overnight,” Adam bites back quickly, a little more anger to his tone than he intends, hand waving around like punctuation. “Because you’re suffering. Because you’re spiraling. Because you don’t call into work sick, ever, not in six years,” he doesn’t notice the way his volume increases like a slow crescendo, desperation seeping in, “because I care about you, because I’ve watched you waste away and you won’t let anyone help you.” 

Adam’s left without another word to say, because I love you caught in his throat, chest rising and falling in staccato rhythm, and Jay blinks, and blinks again, because even though Adam hasn’t spoken the words into existence, he’s said them in another way, and despite everything, Jay’s able to read between the lines. 

And then blinking isn’t enough, isn’t enough to hold back the tears welling in Jay’s reddened eyes, threatening to fall, and he can’t quite catch his breath between sobs, whole body heaving. Adam sinks to the floor in front of Jay’s chair, wraps his arms around Jay’s legs, rests his chin on Jay’s knee, not sure what else there is to say, not sure what more there is he can do. 

It feels like a mistake, like he’s only made things worse. Jay needs the sort of help that Adam can’t give, and he’s not sure he’s driving Jay towards or away from that. “Ruz,” Jay bites out between gasping breaths, “everytime I close my eyes... “ his voice his nothing more than a whisper, no force behind it, “what they did to me… what I… what I had to do. It won’t go away,” his voice cracks and he buries his head in his hands. 

Adam doesn’t have the words for this either, can’t imagine the sort of horrors Jay’s seen. He just wraps an arm around Jay’s waist, pulls him, boneless and heavy, to the floor, tucked into his side, and Jay doesn’t resist, if anything, curls further in and cries. In the morning, they’ll need to figure this out, they’ll have to talk about the situation, that Jay can’t come back to work like this, that what he needs is beyond what Adam can offer. Adam will have to convince him to tell Hank what’s going on, insist on some sort of treatment program, therapy. Adam doesn’t let his thoughts stray too far, because the road ahead seems near impossible, because Jay’s suffering isn’t close to being over. But somehow, it feels different. Like whatever wall’s been built up, brick by brick, has a door in it that he can fit through. 

Jay doesn’t say it either, but somehow, Adam knows, Jay loves him too.


End file.
